


In From the Cold

by alienchrist



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: First Meetings, M/M, Microfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-29
Updated: 2012-06-29
Packaged: 2017-11-08 19:42:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/446805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alienchrist/pseuds/alienchrist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vahe arrived in Markarth in a terrible temper, but he might find something to enjoy there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In From the Cold

Vahe arrived in Markarth in a foul temper. He had paid a carriage to take him to the city and promptly fallen asleep in the back, not realizing he’d mixed up the names of his destinations. Now he was in a city completely opposite from where he intended. His fault for trying to cull his collection of raided mead while on the road. His head was pounding.

He barely had time to marvel over the unique architecture before a woman was murdered in the street right before his eyes. He felled the man responsible, but it was too late for the victim.

Vahe was always getting caught up in things, and people always got hurt. He was by and large apathetic to the Nords and their quibbles, but that didn't mean he wanted them to suffer just from being near him. He felt responsible. A storm of bad luck always seemed to set in to any city or town he arrived in, like a spate of inclement weather. The key to a dead woman’s room was heavy in his pocket, as was the note from a man who was clearly more than a passer-by. Markarth was shaping up to be just another place full of problems only he could solve.

With cold stone beneath his boots Vahe found himself missing Valenwood terribly. The night gave way to a misty rain, and he found his way to the nearby inn with little enthusiasm.

A man drinking ale by the fire introduced himself as a soldier of fortune and offered his skills as a hired blade. Vahe said what he always did to mercenaries: nothing, accompanied with a barely-there shake of his head. He didn’t need them. A waste of money, and potentially a waste of someone else's life.

Soldier of fortune was a rather romantic way to put it, Vahe thought. He wondered what kind of person would say such a thing, and noticed Vorstag almost seemed to smile at him. It might have been the firelight flitting over his features. He certainly was a handsome fellow, though - a rather typical Nord, but worth at least a second glance.

Vahe's lips threatened to return the smile. The room seemed a little bit warmer. Perhaps Markarth had more to offer than he thought.


End file.
